


stood a little while within it

by tasteofshapes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hot Chocolate, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofshapes/pseuds/tasteofshapes
Summary: A Christmas party featuring an obnoxious Blaise, innuendo, surprise gifts, and a Draco who can't quite believe that his crush on one Harry Potter isn't as unrequited as he might think.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 102
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2020





	stood a little while within it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladderofyears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/gifts).



> Dear Emma, I was thrilled to write for you, and tried to include as many things as you liked, but couldn't quite manage to fit them all in. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this short fic about our two favourite idiots getting together. Merry Christmas!
> 
> Thanks to L for the quick beta!

The front door to Pansy and Ginny’s house bangs open for the fifth time in an hour, and Draco looks up in the middle of his conversation with Blaise just as Potter sweeps in. He brings with him a cold gust of wind that swirls around the living room, which causes someone to cry out, “Shut the door!” 

Potter does so, laughing. The flurry of snowflakes that flew in with him melts on the doormat as he stamps his shoes. His cheeks are pink with cold, and the lower half of his face is hidden under a mountain of a scarf that he begins to unwind. He looks adorable, even bundled up as he is, and Draco turns away to hide the sudden flush that rises hot against his cheeks.

“Hello!” Potter calls out cheerfully, once he’s finally free of the scarf, and gets back a chorus of, “Hullo Harry!” from the group scattered around the living room. 

Draco is not one of them. He ignores Harry in favour of concentrating on what Blaise is saying about brooms and presents, but then gets distracted again when, down the hall, Ginny pokes her head out of the kitchen. She waves a flour-covered hand at Potter, and he grins and blows her a kiss in return, which makes Draco’s heart do a funny little dance to see. Ginny just laughs and ducks back in. She’s replaced by Pansy, who sticks her head around the doorframe to shout, “Harry, did you remember to bring the port that we asked for?”

“Would I risk being quartered and hung from the rafters for forgetting?” Potter says, and holds up a Saintsbury plastic bag. “Of course I did.”

Pansy flaps a dish towel at him, but she’s smiling, and once Potter’s divested himself of his truly lengthy scarf and coat, he heads towards the kitchen. Draco watches Potter’s arse over the rim of his glass of Firewhiskey, and therefore misses what Blaise says until Blaise turns around to follow his line of sight, just in time to catch the back of Potter disappearing into the kitchen. 

Blaise gives a derisive snort, but doesn't say anything else. He doesn’t have to. Draco flushes again. His huge, and frankly, rather inconvenient crush on Potter is well-known amongst the Slytherin contingent. The good thing about the Slytherins is that they protect their own, and he knows that his secret is safe with them. The bad thing about the Slytherins is that _they’re Slytherins_ , and they take every opportunity to remind Draco of his inconvenient crush whenever they can. 

Draco drinks his Firewhiskey until he’s sure his face is flushed from the alcohol (and not embarrassment), while Blaise sips his drink and watches, amused. 

“So about those brooms,” Draco says gamely, trying to pick up the thread of their conversation, and Blaise snorts again, his gaze drifting somewhere to the left of Draco. 

“What about brooms?” A familiar voice says, and Draco silently curses his luck before he turns around, a smile plastered across his face. Potter’s wearing one of his Weasley jumpers—this one is bright red, with the ‘H’ knitted in a shade of buttery yellow, and it’s old and hangs slightly off one broad shoulder. It’s one that he’s worn countless times before, and is clearly a favourite. It’s Draco’s favourite too, as his gaze lands on that tanned patch of skin tucked in-between the curve of Potter’s neck and the collar of his jumper. 

“Yes, what about brooms, Draco?” Blaise echoes, smirking. Draco ignores him, the pest.

“I was thinking about getting Teddy a racing broom,” Draco improvises. It’s not a lie: that _had_ been on his mind. Besides Mother, Teddy and Aunt Andromeda were all he had left of family, and he was determined to spoil Teddy—at least, as much as Aunt Andromeda would allow him to get away with. 

It hadn’t been easy at first. It had fallen on him to be the first to reach out, writing a stiff, formal letter inquiring upon their health, and which he was sure would be ignored. So it had come as a surprise when Aunt Andromeda sent back a reply, warmly inviting him around for tea to meet his first cousin once removed. 

Draco went, and had, within the first five minutes, tripped over one of Teddy’s toys and broken it. Teddy had screamed and cried and thrown up on him in retaliation, and he had left feeling absolutely sure that he wouldn’t be invited again, except that Aunt Andromeda wrote asking if he would like to have tea the next week at the same time, and had added in a postscript that Narcissa was invited too, if she would like to visit. It had taken Draco a week’s worth of persuasion, but Mother somehow found the time in her alarmingly empty social calendar to attend. Mother was icily formal and stiff during the entire visit, until Teddy sat quietly in her lap and looked up at her with those big eyes of his, his hair flicking through colours as she gently stroked his head. She had thawed rapidly after that, and Draco had left feeling lighter and happier than he had in years.

Now, Potter’s eyebrows lift, even as he begins to smile. “Isn’t five a bit young for a broom?” There’s a teasing lilt to his tone, and he looks oddly smug. Draco can’t puzzle it out. 

“Not at all,” Draco says. “The modern models are very safe. There’s a speed limiter and a height restriction, so they can’t fly as high or as fast as some of the brooms we used to have when we were young.”

“Everyone’s overly concerned about safety nowadays,” Blaise scoffs. “You’ve got to let a child break a couple of bones. That’s what childhood is for.”

At Potter’s alarmed look, Draco adds, “But I’ll have to see if Aunt Andromeda approves, of course, although I can’t imagine that she’d object. I had my first broom when I was seven. Used to spend my summer zipping all over the countryside around the Manor on it.”

Just talking about it brings the memories back. Those were some of the best days of Draco’s life, the sweet summer wind in his face and the feel of the broomstick beneath his hands. How he could fly for hours, the sun warming his skin, and how he would land in the woods for a short rest whenever he got tired. Eating a late lunch of ham sandwiches under a shady tree, listening to the birdsong while he watched the sunlight dapple through the trees, turning everything soft and golden.

“I remember!” Blaise says. “Didn’t Lucius used to call you a little terror? Every time I came over for dinner that summer he was always complaining about you flying up to the edge of the boundaries, and going on about the risks of exposing yourself to the Muggles.”

They used to giggle about the double innuendo, Draco recalls. He exchanges a look with Blaise now, both of them snickering into their drinks as Potter begins to laugh. 

“He didn’t!” 

“Oh, he did,” Draco says, as Blaise nods in affirmation. “Long lectures about making sure not to give Muggles _a flash of the magical world_ and whatnot, while Mother would clutch her wine glass and pretend she didn’t understand what was going on.”

“But he must—surely he must have done this on purpose,” Potter says, giggling. 

Draco shrugs, sipping at his drink. “One never knows with that man. If he had a sense of humour, he was perfectly deadpan about it.”

“Mother and I used to have a little side, bet on how long Narcissa could tolerate it before she would jump in and change the subject,” Blaise says, smiling mistily into the distance. “I had plenty of pocket money that year, thanks to you.”

Potter’s looking between them, bemused. “I think a broom would be a great idea. But maybe not a racing one, Andromeda might not be that thrilled if Teddy gets another fast toy.”

“Thanks to you spoiling the market,” Draco says. He gives Potter a friendly shoulder bump, and is delighted when Potter blushes. “No five year old needs a toy racing car! At the very least, you should have warned me when I showed up with a toy bear, like a complete pillock. He’ll think I’m the boring cousin now.”

“Oh he does not,” Potter says, but he’s smiling. “He adores you.” Now it’s Draco’s turn to blush.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Blaise announces to the general vicinity, rolling his eyes. Neither of them pay any attention to him as he flounces off with a huff. 

“Does he, though? It’s hard to tell when he’s constantly vomiting on me.”

Potter laughs. “Vomit is Teddy’s love language,” he says. “He’s remarkably consistent about it too, he always seems to be able to spit up just when you think you’re clear.”

“Tell me about it,” Draco says, thinking about the last pair of leather shoes he wore to Aunt Andromeda’s. They had never recovered from Teddy’s artful regurgitation of his Shepherd’s pie.

“Can I get you a refill?” Potter says, which is when Draco realises that his glass is empty. 

Draco hesitates for a moment, before admitting, “I was thinking of getting a hot chocolate, actually.”

“What a coincidence, so was I,” Potter says, grinning, and Draco can’t help smiling back. As one, they move towards the kitchen, and enter it to find Ginny and Pansy busy putting the last touch of dinner together. 

“Hot chocolate’s on the side table,” Ginny says without looking up as she pulls open the oven. Pansy doesn’t even bother to greet them as she flits around the kitchen, twirling her wand. An army of plates and cutlery fly out of various drawers and float behind her in a neat line as she heads out to the dining room. 

“How did you guess?” Potter says, leaning against a counter and smiling down at the back of Ginny’s head. 

“I know _you_ , Harry.” Ginny looks up then, just in time to catch the fond smile on Potter’s face. She swats a hand against his leg, but smiles back. Draco’s heart does a funny little flutter at how familiar they are with each other, and he ruthlessly stamps it down. Ginny can’t help it that she knows Potter far better than he does, and anyway, she’s with Pansy now. Still, he can’t help the little rush of jealousy that washes over him. That fades however, when Ginny adds, “Draco, I didn’t know how much marshmallows you wanted, so I just left you a pile over there.”

“Oh,” Draco says, surprised but pleased. “That’s very thoughtful, thank you. I usually take as many as can fit the mug.”

“You’re welcome. And Harry, that package you were waiting for is in the broom shed. Now shoo! Leave me in peace to get dinner ready.”

Potter laughs, but grabs two mugs of steaming hot chocolate off the table and hands one to Draco, who reaches past him to grab a handful of marshmallows piled up on a plate. Harry watches and copies him, and they grin at each other as they leave the kitchen. Draco takes a large sip of his hot chocolate, and is delighted to find it thick and frothy, just the way he likes it.

“Will you come with me to the broom shed? There’s something I want to show you.” Potter’s eyes are gleaming, and he looks excited. 

“Now?” Draco says, even as his internal voice screams, _yes, yes, at once!_ His crush on Potter is such that he would have willingly gone to Antarctica with Potter if Potter had asked. 

Potter hesitates. “Well, I suppose it can wait after dinner,” he says slowly. 

Draco smiles. “I’m only joking Potter, lead the way.” A thrill runs through him again as Potter grins back. 

They open the door to the back garden to find it blanketed in white. It’s snowing again. Their shoes crunch on the frozen grass and fresh snow, chilled hands wrapped around their mugs of steaming hot chocolate. A flurry of snowflakes drift down to land in Draco’s hair, melting against his flushed cheeks. He sips at his hot chocolate as Potter fumbles with the bolt on the shed one-handed. 

After a moment, the door swings open, and they hurry inside as Potter reaches for the light switch. The shed has an Extension Charm on it, and there are rows and rows of shelves packed with such an array of miscellaneous items that Draco has no idea which package Ginny’s referring to. Evidently, Potter does, because he immediately goes “Aha!”

He hands his mug of hot chocolate to Draco, and strides forward to drag out a large wooden box set against the wall. 

“Right,” Potter says, wiping his hands in a somewhat nervous fashion against his trousers. “This is, erm. For you. And Teddy. And me, in a way. Er. Merry Christmas, Draco.”

“For me?” Draco says. He sets the mugs down on a nearby shelf and steps forward, running his hands over the top of the box. It’s oak, and it smells like vanilla as his fingers trace the wood grain. 

“Open it,” Potter says from behind him, sounding eager. 

Draco does. It’s a children’s game set of Quidditch, and comes with a child-safe version of Quaffles, Bludgers and the Snitch. There’s even a set of child-sized Quidditch robes, and Draco smiles as he shakes it out. It’s exactly Teddy’s size.

“Potter, this is—” his voice catches unexpectedly. He clears his throat, suddenly shy, as Potter steps forward into his space.

“I thought it would be nice if we could play a game with Teddy,” Potter says quietly. He pauses, then adds, slightly hesitantly, “Together.”

“Oh,” Draco says, smiling. His heart is soaring. He says, “That would be nice,” his voice cracking a little around the edges. 

“Yeah?” Potter says. 

Draco nods. “Teddy would love it.” It’s a sidestep from what he truly wants to say. There’s a slight pause. Draco takes a deep breath and picks up his courage and forges ahead. 

He says, “ _I_ would—,” just as Potter asks, “Do you think—”

They stop and smile at each other, and Draco says, “ _Yes_ ,” with emphasis. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask,” Potter objects, but he’s grinning, and continues, “I was going to say, do you think you’d like to have dinner with me on Friday?” 

“Oh,” Draco says again, stunned. He searches Potter’s face for hints that he’s misheard, but there’s only Potter’s smiling at him, a smile as warm as the sun and bright like starlight, a hopeful question in his eyes. “Did you say dinner?” 

“Or lunch, if you want. I’m flexible,” Potter says. 

“Oh. Yes,” Draco says, slightly breathlessly. Potter looks so hopeful under the soft light that Draco can’t quite believe that it’s because of _him_. “ _Yes_ , please.” 

He watches as Potter’s face lights up, how his whole being radiates joy. Potter reaches out a hand and tugs Draco to him, and Draco goes willingly, disbelieving to Potter’s side. 

Potter’s smiling as he twines their fingers together, as he says softly, “Merry Christmas, Draco.”


End file.
